


Lux Aeterna

by BeaArthurPendragon



Series: Right Here All Along [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Because tequila, Blanket Permission, Declarations Of Love, Fluff, Law School, M/M, first-time sex, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-08-13 21:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20181244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaArthurPendragon/pseuds/BeaArthurPendragon
Summary: Foggy laughs. “We’re drunk and in love and—”“In love, huh?” Matt asks mildly, his facial expression distressingly neutral.“Uh, was that out loud?”





	Lux Aeterna

**Author's Note:**

  * For [politik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/politik/gifts).

> Prompt: “Character, like a photograph, develops in darkness.” ― Yousuf Karsh
> 
> Many many thanks to my beta, Pogopop!

Foggy kisses Matt in public for the first time on a Friday night at the end of March in a small, crowded bar near campus. They’ve been playing it close to the vest for the past three months, ever since their first kiss at Foggy’s sister’s house on Long Island over Christmas, trying to make sure it works, that it’s real.

But tonight they’re relaxed and happy and Foggy’s feeling his third tequila shot, and there’s so many people packed into the booth that Matt’s practically on his lap anyway, and Foggy has his arm around Matt’s waist so he doesn’t fall off and crush the girl squashed in next to him, and the bar is so loud that Matt has to turn his head back toward Foggy’s face to pick out his words, and they’re matched well enough in height that it’s easy for Foggy to just lean forward a bit when he does and touch his lips to the side of Matt’s mouth—

So that happens.

Foggy freezes when he realizes what he’s done, but Matt grins like the sun and turns back to kiss him properly, and his blush tells Foggy that even Matt can tell the whole table is staring at them now.

Foggy presses his mouth to Matt’s ear. “Cat’s out, buddy,” he murmurs, and Matt grins again.

Suddenly the table erupts in wails of dismay while Blake Tower across the table lets out a hoot of victory and thrusts his hand out expectantly.

“Pay up, losers,” he preens as everyone else at the table glumly pushes twenties across the table toward him.

Foggy specifies the denomination of the bills to Matt, and he flushes even more deeply. “Really, guys?” he asks in mock exasperation.

“Every 3L knows he’s carried a torch for you ever since orientation,” Blake says patiently, counting out a few bills from the stack he’s just won and waving them toward the beleaguered waitress for another round of shots. “Tell your boyfriend he’s got to work on his poker face or I’m going to eat him alive once I’m DA.”

“Why, Franklin, have you been gazing longingly at me during class all these years?” Matt teases Foggy.

“What can I say?” Foggy says expansively, tightening his hold around Matt’s waist and leaning his cheek against Matt’s shoulder. “I wear my heart on my sleeve. Always have, always will.”

“Good,” Matt murmurs into his ear, so only he can hear. “I want everyone to know you’re mine.” And then ever so lightly brushes his lip against the crest of Foggy’s ear.

Foggy gives a happy hum. “Let’s get out of here.”

It’s worth enduring the gauntlet of juvenile _oohs_ and _mmms_ as they dislodge everyone in the booth so they can get outside as soon as possible.

It’s a lovely not-too-cool night and their heads are still swimming from the tequila, so they decide to walk it off before going home. Matt’s hand slowly drifts from Foggy’s elbow to his wrist, fiddling with the button on his jacket cuff for a little while before sliding his hand all the way down to clasp Foggy’s. Foggy warms when he does, and turns to look at Matt’s face. He’s facing straight ahead but he’s smiling that little shit-eating grin he always gets when he’s won a particularly hard point.

“Looking pretty proud of yourself there, Matty,” Foggy says, threading his fingers through Matt’s. He can’t help but smile when Matt smiles—it’s a reflex by now, an invisible thread running from the corner of Matt’s mouth to his.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” he asks, leaning into Foggy a little. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world right now.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Foggy says.

Matt grips Foggy’s hand a little tighter. “Tell me what the sky’s like tonight.”

“It’s nice,” Foggy says. “Clear. Moon’s almost gone so you can actually see a few stars for a change. The Big Dipper’s right over there at your 10,” he says, pointing Matt’s hand up and a little to the left, then moves it a little down and to the right. “And the Little Dipper’s there, at about, oh, your 10:45.” 

It’s been strange, learning the margins of Matt’s abilities. He does all right in the three-dimensional world as long as he’s concentrating, but when he’s tired or distracted, or when things are too crowded or loud for him to focus, the cane still helps. And the two-dimensional world is completely lost to him: colors, street signs, computer screens—all useless. The sky? He can feel the minute changes in barometric pressure, temperature, and wind speed that tell him the sun is setting or that a storm is coming, but mostly it’s just a vast, formless blank.

_That_ conversation had happened the day they returned from the holidays, before they’d even unpacked. The radioactive waste that ruined his eyes, the exponentially heightened senses it gave him in return, the blind martial arts coach who had taught him how to use them all to fight as well as any sighted boy.

He’d been so afraid of being declared crazy or experimented on that he’d thought the only way he could have the normal life he so desperately craved was to bury his truth down deep. That he’d always assumed he’d have to hide it for the rest of his life.

He’d never asked for help he didn’t need, but if someone offered, yes, he accepted it when he thought refusing would give him away. Yes, he knew when people weren’t telling truth, when they were sad or angry or happy. Yes, it was how he’d known Foggy was attracted to men. Yes, it was how he’d known Foggy was attracted to _him_. Yes, he’d known how much it had hurt him to hide it. Yes, Matt had been sitting on a crush of his own since before Foggy even started dating Marci. Yes, this was why he never said anything about how he felt, even if it meant letting his best friend dive headfirst into a relationship bound to fail. Yes, he’d lied. He’d been lying for a long, long time.

It had been awful and they’d both cried and Foggy had packed up his school things and gone to his brother’s, commuting uptown for classes and sitting as far away from Matt during lectures as he could. How long he would need, he wouldn’t say. He was too afraid the answer might be ‘forever.’

How could Matt lie about this? How could he _accept_ that Matt had lied about this? To him? He’d run through every possible analog in search of guidance: an addiction, a criminal record, a communicable disease, a secret child, witness protection. None bore fruit.

It took the better part of three weeks and about a bushel of Theo’s weed before enough anger had burned away that he could begin to consider Matt’s words for what they were.

_I know I should have told you about this before I kissed you, but I just couldn’t wait anymore. You’re my kryptonite, Fog. You always have been._

And Matt was his. Because despite his rage, Foggy did believe him—believed all of it. His default position with Matt had always been yes, and always would be. No matter where it led.

Whether that meant he was stupid or brave, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he was ready to come home.

So they’d spent several weeks feeling their way back to each other, literally—cautiously trying on physical affection for size, keeping to their separate bedrooms while gently probing the delicate tissue of their new relationship to make sure it wouldn’t break.

Some of it came naturally—the gentle playful touches as they both competed for space in their tiny kitchen in the mornings, letting their knees lean against each other’s beneath the long, narrow tables in the lecture hall, snuggling on the sofa while Foggy narrated a movie to Matt, making out a little—but just a little—after a tipsy night out. The first time they kissed goodbye in the morning like a Real Couple, Foggy was on his way to his 8 a.m. environmental law lecture and they’d both blushed and giggled a little and Matt had dispelled the awkwardness with a gentle swat to Foggy’s behind as he turned toward the door.

That night, Foggy had invited Matt into his bed for the first time since the beach. He’d had no doubt Matt could hear him at night these last few weeks, masturbating with Matt’s name on his lips, testing the survival of his desire in the face of betrayal, wondering if Matt was doing the same—but it wasn’t until he felt Matt’s hand on his ass, cupping it ever so slightly with a fleeting but intensely lascivious pressure, that he knew he still wanted more.

That was the first night he tasted Matt’s cock, and the first night that Matt tasted his. Foggy had never done it before and Matt had only done it twice, and Matt spoiled things by making Foggy come almost immediately and then Foggy continued their downward trend by taking so long that Matt had to make him stop so he could finish himself off by hand. Not the most promising step forward, all things considered, but endorphins were endorphins, and they’d laughed about it and snuggled up together afterward, playing with one another’s fingers and making soft happy hums as they worked out how to fit together on the double bed, Foggy’s sturdy softness enfolding the hard planes of Matt’s body.

That was five weeks ago, and they’d shared Foggy’s bed ever since. Most nights they just slept—as if the last semester of law school wasn’t brutal enough, Matt had convinced Foggy that they should also start studying for the June bar exam—but they still managed to squeeze in some time for fun. Just hands and mouths to start, learning each other’s bodies and likes and loves, slowly but steadily mapping out the terrain for the more intimate pleasures to come. Two weeks ago, Matt’s questing fingers had finally drifted down the crease between Foggy’s buttocks and begun to explore his hole, prompting a sharp, vocal gasp of pleasure that surprised and delighted them both.

_Well, that answers _that_ question_, Matt had hummed happily, reaching for the lube.

_Ask it anytime you want_, Foggy had mumbled senselessly as Matt gently slid a freshly slicked finger up his ass and a multiverse of pleasure suddenly exploded inside him. _Oh my God, Matt, don’t stop._

After that, they could hardly keep their hands off each other. It became their new favorite thing—Matt fucking Foggy with his fingers, Foggy’s whines and gasps and desperate begging for more and the string of expletives that poured forth as he came, leaving Matt hard as iron and aching for Foggy’s mouth.

And tonight? Foggy wants even more, and he’s pretty sure Matt does, too.

Matt points over to the right. “Is that a helicopter?”

“Yeah. Looks like it belongs to one of the TV stations.”

“Wonder what’s going on.”

“Not our problem,” Foggy says, dragging Matt’s hand out of the sky and kissing it. “We’re drunk and in love and—”

He wants to die. Right here, vanish, poof.

“In love, huh?” Matt asks mildly, his facial expression distressingly neutral.

“Uh, was that out loud?” Foggy croaks, wanting to melt into the pavement. It’s true, of course—he’s been in love with Matt since sophomore year—but he’s not exactly sure when you’re supposed to start the clock. First kiss? First date? First fuck? “You don’t have to—I mean, you know.”

“I don’t have to what? Say it or feel it?”

“Either. Both. I love what we have. Where we’re going. It doesn’t ever need to be more if you don’t—”

“No,” Matt says thoughtfully. “‘In love’ sounds about right to me, too.”

“Okay,” Foggy says, clearing his throat. “But I’m absolutely not proposing marriage until next week at the earliest.”

Matt laughs, full-throated and louder than Foggy was expecting and it makes him want to burst into song, he’s so happy right now. “Duly noted,” he says gravely, then plants a kiss on Foggy’s cheek and lets his mouth linger next to Foggy’s ear. “How about fucking, at least? Can I propose that?”

Now it’s Foggy’s turn to laugh way too loud. Matt’s boldness is both hilariously out of character and unspeakably hot and he curls Matt’s arm up in his and picks up the pace.

Arriving home is a breathless fumbling of keys and coats and shoes and glasses and cane, and then, as they stumble into Foggy’s room they get to work on sweaters and shirts and belts and pants. But when Foggy slides his thumbs into the waistband of Matt’s boxers, Matt closes his hands over Foggy’s to stop him.

“Wait,” he says softly, raising his fingertips to Foggy’s face. “Let me touch you.”

Matt had felt his face once as a joke at a party early in their freshman year together. Some drunk girl had succumbed to the wounded, handsome duck thing and had been trying to get Matt to touch her all night and he’d deftly dodged her by reaching for Foggy, who was sitting right next to her, and complimenting her on her luxurious goatee. 

Now it’s for real. Matt’s touch is exceptionally light and responsive, but it somehow manages to make every nerve ending in Foggy’s face sing. He starts at the top, working his way down the line of Foggy’s brow, pausing to admire the whorls of his ears (Foggy’s fingers curling into the meat of Matt’s hips when he lingers over the sensitive lobes) before sweeping forward across his cheekbones to his nose. Then it’s down the nose to the little divot beneath and finally brings his fingertips to rest on Foggy’s lips.

“I thought you didn’t get anything out of this,” Foggy says.

“Just because it doesn’t tell me what you look like doesn’t mean I don’t get anything out of it,” Matt says, a distracted half smile on his face. “There’s no part of you I don’t want to touch, babe.”

Foggy smiles and kisses Matt’s fingers, then opens his mouth and grabs one—Matt’s left middle finger, he thinks—gently in his teeth and flicks his tongue against the tip. Matt gives a hot little sigh and pulls his hand away so he can kiss him, reaching down to work Foggy’s boxers down as he does. He’s at full attention now, and Matt grins with his mouth still pressed to Foggy’s as he eases the waistband over his ready-and-willing dick. Foggy returns the favor, kneeling and kissing Matt’s belly as he does, before taking Matt’s cock in his mouth.

Matt sighs and his knees wobble a little. Foggy cups Matt’s ass in his hands as he sucks and licks Matt’s dick. Matt always gets super-tactile when he’s turned on, Foggy’s learned, and he can’t keep his hands off Foggy now. He’s carding his fingers through Foggy’s hair and stroking his ears and sometimes playing with one of his own nipples as Foggy does his best to swallow him whole.

And then suddenly, with an indignant chirp, Foggy’s alarm clock goes blank.

“Something’s wrong,” Matt says breathily as Foggy releases him and stands up in alarm.

“Our power’s out,” Foggy says, feeling his way to the window and pulling the curtain aside. In the moonless night, the blacked-out city is just an indistinct dark mass against the only slightly less-dark mass of the sky. “Shit, the whole city’s out.”

“Do you need anything?” Matt asks. “A flashlight or something? Do we even have a flashlight?”

Foggy snorts. “My phone’s got one, but I’m pretty sure I don’t need it for this unless you’ve got a kink I don’t know about.”

“Hey, you never know. I might want to take some dirty pictures.”

Foggy laughs and reaches for him. Even as his eyes adjust, Matt’s just the vaguest of shapes, and the first time he tries, he misses.

“Fuck, how do you do this?” he says, groping until he connects with Matt’s body. His shoulder, as it turned out.

Matt laughs and pulls him close, planting a hard kiss on his mouth as he reaches for Foggy’s dick. “Like this,” he murmurs against Foggy’s lips, stroking the base of Foggy’s cock with his thumb to get him hard again.

Foggy makes an indistinct little bleat of pleasure, then grips Matt’s shoulder hard as his legs begin to melt. Matt pulls him in even closer and presses his cock hard against Foggy’s, taking them both in his hand and stroking with aching slowness.

Foggy’s breath begins to stumble and a fine mist of sweat breaks out across his shoulders. He lunges for Matt’s mouth and begins to kiss him hungrily, sloppily, biting his lip and dragging his tongue across the tips of Matt’s teeth, grabbing Matt’s ass hard, digging his fingers into his flesh so hard he thinks he might leave bruises.

Matt kisses his way to Foggy’s ear, nibbling his earlobe and planting soft, sucking kisses down his neck until he reaches Foggy’s collarbone. He runs his tongue along the tender channel between the bone and the muscle and Foggy shivers with delight.

“You keep that up, I’m going to come right here,” Foggy warns him with a low growl.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Matt murmurs, gently guiding him down to the bed.

“How do you want me?” Foggy asks, suddenly nervous. The porn he’s seen hasn’t prepared him for this—now that he’s in the moment, so much of it seems impossible with a body as big as his.

“However you want to be,” Matt says, generously but unhelpfully.

“I don’t want to squash you.”

“You won’t,” Matt says, kissing him tenderly. “You want to try with me on top so you’re not worried about it, though?”

Foggy nods, then adds a small-voiced “Okay” out of habit.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay,” Matt says, pushing him back on the mattress and straddling him. “I love every inch of you, Fog. I mean that. I do.” He leans forward on his elbows so their bellies touch, gently rubbing their cocks together as he showers Foggy’s face with tiny kisses.

A slow, delicious bloom of heat rolls through Foggy, and his breathing begins to hitch. “Jesus,” he breathes, pressing his hips up against Matt’s. “That feels so fucking good.”

“Excellent,” Matt says, kissing his way down Foggy’s neck to his chest. He noses about in the wispy cluster of hair on Foggy’s left tit before taking his nipple between his teeth, holding it firm and flicking it gently with his tongue until it hardens, spreading a jagged web of pleasure along his nerve endings across his chest and into his back.

“Oh, Jesus,” Foggy repeats, his hips starting to jerk. “Do the other one.”

Matt does, and this time he bites a little harder and Foggy learns he likes that a little better—the pinch of salt that makes the sugar sweeter. A soft, high noise escapes him and grabs Matt’s shoulders and groans. He wishes there was just a little more light, wishes he could watch Matt touch him, but there will be time enough for that, he thinks, and that’s the realization that nearly brings him to tears:

They have a future together.

It’s early days still and there’s no telling what the months and years ahead hold in store—he knows this—but tomorrow? They’ll have that. He knows it. He can count on it. They’re young and in love and Matt is busily kissing every inch of Foggy’s body that he can reach right now, and in a little while they’ll fuck for the first time and collapse into bed next to each other and in the morning they will wake up and they will still be together.

Matt’s made his way down to Foggy’s navel now, tracing little circles around the edge with his tongue, which Foggy finds he likes quite a lot, too. His dick’s pressing hard against Matt’s collarbone and throat, and Matt drags his tongue down the lower half of Foggy’s belly into the dense, curly thicket of hair below and then takes Foggy’s cock in his mouth.

Foggy groans with pleasure; he reaches up behind him and grabs fistfuls of pillow with one hand and plays with Matt’s hair with the other, scrubbing his fingers up and down along the shortest, stubbliest length at the back.

Matt brings him so close to coming that Foggy has to push him away. “I need you to fuck me,” he pants and Matt laughs a little.

“Gladly,” he says, playfully swatting the side of Foggy’s thigh as he turns over onto his stomach.

Foggy ruts a little against the quilt as Matt straddles his thighs and leans forward to kiss and nuzzle his back while he slowly works a dollop of lube into his hole. Even this is enough to make Foggy squirm and rock his hips, hungry for more.

“How are you doing?” Matt asks softly as he slides a second finger in. “More of this or—?”

“Or,” Foggy gasps urgently, wiggling his ass a little against Matt’s hand and savoring the friction of the quilt against his cock. “Definitely _or_.”

“Okay, then,” Matt says, planting a kiss on the small of Foggy’s back. He rolls off Foggy’s legs and they turn onto their sides so Matt can hold him. “I get to touch more of you this way,” he says, kissing his shoulder.

And then, before Foggy can respond, he feels Matt gently ease his cock between his buttocks and press the tip against his hole. “Tell me if you need me to stop or slow down or—anything at all, okay?” Matt murmurs.

“Okay,” Foggy says, threading his fingers through Matt’s and clasping his hand to his chest.

Matt hooks his leg over Foggy’s and drops gentle little kisses on Foggy’s shoulder as he slowly pushes himself in. It’s painful at first, but it also feels good, and after a few moments to get used to the feeling he begins to want more.

They move together slowly at first, small, gentle thrusts as they find their fit, their rhythm. Matt’s kissing everything he can reach—Foggy’s shoulder, his neck, his ear—and his breath comes in hot, stuttering bursts across his skin. In a burst of inspiration, Foggy licks his own palm and begins to jerk himself off as Matt’s movements take on more urgency; his rhythm is off but he doesn’t care because he’s nearing whiting out from pleasure, pumping out breathy little grunts with each stroke.

“Fuck, you sound so hot right now,” Matt mumbles into Foggy’s ear, clutching him tighter and thrusting harder. “I’m gonna come, Foggy,” he says. “Are you gonna come for me?”

Foggy can’t even speak anymore, he’s so close—he just manages an affirmative moan as the tenor of Matt’s breathing changes, becoming shorter and more staccato, and he begins digging his fingers needily into Foggy’s chest.

“Oh, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” Matt gasps, shuddering hard against him, and that’s what tips Foggy over the edge into a roiling ocean of pleasure. The room is nearly pitch-black but he sees stars, and it’s only after they subside that he notices the rawness of his throat and realizes he must have shouted too.

His arms and legs are buzzing and boneless and it’s all he can do to stay on his side long enough for Matt to pull himself out. They both flop onto their backs, sated and happy, lacing their fingers together and kissing each other’s hands lazily as they wait for their heartbeats to slow.

“God, I love you,” Foggy sighs, and Matt laughs and plants a kiss on his temple.

“I love you, too.”

“That was—really nice.”

“Better than nice, I think,” Matt says, elbowing him.

Foggy hums in agreement and kisses Matt’s hand. They lie there quietly for a while, hovering between waking and sleep, simply enjoying the closeness of one another as the adrenaline of their lovemaking begins to drain away.

Then Matt rolls away for a moment and then snuggles in close to Foggy in an odd way. Foggy’s about to ask him what he’s doing when the screen of his phone lights up two feet over their faces.

“Really, dude? Right now?” He's got no idea how Matt figured out how to open the camera on Foggy's phone, but he has.

“Isn’t this what all the cool kids do now?” Matt jokes, and the room’s so dark there’s no way to know what he’s actually pointing the camera at, but just in case his aim is true, Foggy turns his face and kisses Matt’s cheek instead so the flash doesn’t blind him.

And—it’s not that bad, actually. A little blurry, a little grainy, and Foggy’s head is cut off from the ears back, but it’s cute and Matt looks delighted, if a little puzzled, and Foggy doesn’t look terrible, which he counts as a win.

“Well done, you,” Foggy says, kissing him again as he tosses the phone back onto the nightstand. “But why’d you want a picture?”

“I dunno,” Matt says, snuggling up next to him. “Just wanted to capture the moment, I guess. I don’t have a lot of pictures of me.”

“They still mean something to you?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I know it’s weird, but it’s like—okay, so, the nuns had this wall where they hung family photos of all the kids they were able to place. And of course I couldn’t see them, but I knew they were there, and I hated them, because I knew nobody wanted me in theirs. The nuns tried to protect me from it, but I knew nobody wanted to adopt me, and I knew it was because I was blind and I was angry all the time and I was too old to be cute anymore, and after a while I just started to feel like—I just didn’t have enough light in me. Like I was invisible, and when I died, there’d be no record that I’d ever lived at all.”

“Oh, Matty,” Foggy says, turning to face him. “I hate that you felt that way.”

“I don’t—I don’t feel that way now. I know my worth, even if other people can’t always see it. But it’s hard to shake sometimes. I think that’s why I want to be a defense attorney. It’s kind of selfish, I guess, but I want to know I’ve mattered to someone.”

“This is the part where I tell you that you matter a whole hell of a lot to me, right?” Foggy asks, kissing his forehead.

Matt gives a soft laughing sigh. “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment.”

“I know.” Foggy nuzzles his nose against Matt’s. “But I’m gonna give you one anyway if that’s all right with you.”

“Okay,” Matt says uncertainly.

“Brace yourself, though, because this is gonna be cheesy. Like, epic cheese. Moon-sized cheese.”

Matt laughs a little. “Uh oh.”

“You ready?”

“I’m ready.”

“Here goes,” Foggy says, pressing his forehead against Matt’s. “You’re all the light I need.”

“What?”

“You’re all the light I need,” Foggy repeats. “I dunno, maybe I need to work on the rhythm. ‘You’re all the light I _ever_ need,’ maybe? Or maybe—”

“Foggy,” Matt says, choking back a laugh. “Stop.”

“Too much?”

“No, it was very nice,” Matt says, kissing him lightly. “And very cheesy.”

“And that’s why you love me.”

“That is easily in the top three to five reasons why, yes.”

“What’re the other two to four?”

“You’re just gonna have to stick around long enough to find out.”

Foggy swallows hard and blinks back a surprise tear. “Okay,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the wonderful prompt, Politik! I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
